In the end there seemed little doubt
that it was her brother.
'Ah!' she said, 'It's Mike sure enough, and please God they'll give
him a decent burial.'
Then she began to keen slowly to herself. She had loose yellow hair
plastered round her head with the rain, and as she sat by the door
sucking her infant, she seemed like a type of the women's life upon
the islands.
For a while the people sat silent, and one could hear nothing but
the lips of the infant, the rain hissing in the yard, and the
breathing of four pigs that lay sleeping in one corner. Then one of
the men began to talk about the new boats that have been sent to the
south island, and the conversation went back to its usual round of
topics.
The loss of one man seems a slight catastrophe to all except the
immediate relatives. Often when an accident happens a father is lost
with his two eldest sons, or in some other way all the active men of
a household die together.
A few years ago three men of a family that used to make the wooden
vessels--like tiny barrels--that are still used among the people,
went to the big island together. They were drowned on their way
home, and the art of making these little barrels died with them, at
least on Inishmaan, though it still lingers in the north and south
islands.
Another catastrophe that took place last winter gave a curious zest
to the observance of holy days.
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